Sherlock's Unexpected Journey
by lizzie-two
Summary: Sherlock finds himself in the Shire and meets a hobbit that looks very familiar.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys. This story is one I wrote ages ago and have republished. I don't own any of the characters or worlds shown in this. Also I'd like to thank those who have stuck by this little story, you guys are really great. Enjoy this.**

'Either Mycroft is playing a joke or this is the strangest dream I've ever had' thought Sherlock as he surveyed his surroundings.

He was sitting in the front garden of a tiny house built into the side of a small hill. Small pathways wound through the seemingly random placement of homes and fields. If Sherlock wasn't a firm lover of cities he'd envy the people who lived here.

He got to his feet slowly and took out his phone, ready to call his brother and demand he be brought home. He unlocked it and noticed he had no signal. He suppressed a groan of annoyance and raised the phone above his head, trying to gain at least one bar. He moved his arm around as if that would help.

That's when the round, green door of the house he stood near opened. Sherlock stopped waving his arm and observed as a small man, less than the height of his waist, cautiously stepped outside. He was wearing a white shirt with a gold waistcoat over it, dark green trousers and braces to hold them up. He wore no shoes and his feet were quite large and covered in fair, curly hairs like the ones on his head. But what grabbed Sherlock's attention straight away was his face, clean shaven and oddly familiar.

The man looked uncomfortable under this scrutiny and cleared his throat, "I'm sorry...can I help you?" he asked politely, "its just...I don't exactly know you, nor was I expecting company so early." His voice sounded familiar too. It took Sherlock a moment to figure it out but when he did it was like a slap to the face.

 _John._

His lips twitched into a smile and relief washed over him. He replaced his phone in his pocket and stepped onto the pathway towards him, "oh John, am I glad to see you. Was this Mycroft's doing? And why are you dressed like..." he gestured to the smaller man's outfit, " _that? And...why are you so small? Did he drug me?"_

The man looked awfully confused, though bristled at the comment on his height, "I'll have you know I'm a perfectly respectable height for a hobbit, thank you very much," he said stiffly, "and there's nothing wrong with my clothes."

Sherlock tilted his head at him, a small frown appearing. What was going on? This _had_ to be John. He looked just like him!

Taking advantage of the silence the hobbit drew himself up, "Bilbo Baggins of Bag End," he announced while sticking his hand out, "and who, may I ask, are you?" For lack of a better response, Sherlock simply gripped his smaller hand and shook it once, "Sherlock Holmes," he answered, "of London. Could you tell me where I am? I seem to be lost."

The hobbit, Bilbo, relaxed slightly and retracted his hand, "thought as much. Don't see many Big Folk around here, you're probably on your way to Bree," he looked at him expectantly. His confused look returned when Sherlock shook his head, "I don't think I can get home from here. I'll have to wait for my brother to come fetch me," Sherlock sighed.

Bilbo raised his eyebrows, "so you've nowhere to go? Well I wouldn't be much of a Baggins if I didn't invite you in for a cup of tea, at least," he turned around and beckoned for Sherlock to follow him through the little door. Sherlock had to stoop to get inside and straightened up once he was, "thank you for inviting me in," he said to the retreating back of the hobbit, who waved his hand in a 'think nothing of it' gesture, "no point in standing around in the garden," he said off-handedly.

Sherlock followed him, but not without having a good look at the house. It was wonderfully cosy and littered with small treasures and keepsakes. It was clear that Mr Baggins was quite a rich hobbit. It was equally clear to Sherlock that he had no wife, children or any other family to speak of. Though there must have been, once, for there were many doors leading to what he assumed were bedrooms.

He was led to a small kitchen, where Bilbo had begun to make tea, an action he'd seen John do so many times in a similar way that he had to speak up, "you remind me of my friend," he practically blurted, then immediately felt stupid for it. Bilbo raised an eyebrow at him, "how is that? Have you got a friend from around here?" he asked with a disbelieving expression. "No," Sherlock replied, "he's...well, a man. But he looks just like you and you have similar voices and...characteristics," he added. He struggled to keep a straight face as Bilbo gave him a look that so strongly resembled his friend that he could barely believe otherwise.

"Is that so?" Bilbo asked, setting two cups of tea on a tray and heading towards his sitting room, "and my apologies, my chairs aren't suited to your height." Sherlock shrugged, "I'm sure it will be fine."

When they were seated and drinking their tea, Bilbo bit his lip and tapped the side of his cup with his fingers, "do you mind me asking how you got here?" he inquired, "because it seems to me like you don't know at all. Which would be quite ridiculous." Sherlock smiled, "it is indeed ridiculous Mr Baggins. Though I suspect my brother is behind it. So I can only assume he will come back for me," he drank from his tea. Bilbo chuckled, "it does sound the sort of thing a family member does." Then silence rose and both of them were happy to let it sit.

After a long while when both of them had finished their tea Bilbo stood up, "I'm going outside for a little while to smoke my pipe," he explained as he retrieved it from the mantelpiece, "you're welcome to join me. You can borrow some of my pipeweed. Might as well while you wait for your brother." Sherlock considered the invitation, then smiled and rose as well, "that sounds splendid. Though, would you be so kind as to lend me a pipe? I'm afraid I don't have one," Bilbo looked at him oddly, though didn't comment while he found a spare pipe and filled each one with a pinch of Old Toby.

They sat outside on a hobbit sized bench, puffing away on the pipe weed. Sherlock adjusted quickly from his normal cigarette and was soon blowing smoke clouds that rose in time with the smoke rings that Bilbo produced. Bilbo told Sherlock about hobbits and their customs while he listened and chuckled about the many meals of the day a hobbit would eat.

He didn't question anything, knowing that if Mycroft didn't come then he would most likely wake up, seeing as this would most definitely be a dream. So he allowed his worries to leave him for a moment.

Bilbo was taking a break from telling him about why hobbits didn't wear shoes. He shut his eyes and tilted his head back to soak in the sunlight. Sherlock stared at the ground and tried to think of a suitable way to wake up, deciding that Mycroft was not coming.

Sherlock looked up when he heard Bilbo give a small cough, and saw a very old looking man standing in front of them. He wore long grey robes, a silver scarf and a blue hat, and he had a long grey beard and equally long hair. He had a walking stick, which was poised in front of him.

Sherlock opened his mouth and was about to say something when Bilbo said "good morning."

The man's eyes flickered to Sherlock before settling on the hobbit, "what do you mean?" he asked, "do you mean to wish me a good morning or do you mean it is a good morning whether I want it or not? Or perhaps you mean that you feel good on this particular morning. Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?"

Bilbo blinked, "All of them at once, I suppose," he replied slowly. The man narrowed his eyes and hummed to himself. Sherlock watched his small friend with slight amusement as Bilbo straightened up, "can I help you?" he asked politely.

Sherlock turned to look at the old man who answered, "that remains to be seen.

"What an odd answer, Sherlock thought. He'd been about to ask the man what he meant when he spoke again."I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure."


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys here's chapter two. Enjoy.**

Sherlock's interest was instantly piqued. An adventure? That certainly sounded more exciting than sitting on a tiny bench, waiting to wake up. But he didn't answer, as the question was quite clearly directed at the hobbit sitting beside him.

He looked at Bilbo eagerly. But, alas, the hobbit looked more uncomfortable than anything, "an adventure?" Bilbo repeated, then shifted in his seat, "well I don't imagine anyone West of Bree would have much interest in adventures," he vaguely answered.

Bree, thought Sherlock instinctively, the village of men. Part of him was surprised that he'd bothered storing it in his mind palace.

Sherlock was dragged away from his thoughts when he noticed Bilbo had moved from his side and was standing in front of the round door, pointing his pipe at the wizard as if weilding a weapon. He looked agitated as he said rather loudly, " _we_ do not want _any_ adventures _here_ thank you. Not today, not...I suggest you try over the hill or across the water." He looked ready to add something else but he caught himself. He muttered a hasty "good morning," before darting back inside.

Sherlock couldn't stifle his chuckle of amusement, what an fascinating creature. If only he was real so Sherlock could study him.

Sherlock noticed the wizard step towards the door and raise his staff. He eagerly observed from his seat as the cloaked man carved a symbol into the door. His curiosity was screaming at him to go see what it was, but he remained seated, waiting for the wizard to leave. The man stepped back and admired his handywork before turning with a swish of his grey robes and heading back down the pathway.

The wizard paused beside the bench Sherlock was still seated on, "I've not seen nor heard of Bilbo Baggins, or indeed any Baggins in the company of a man before today," he looked at Sherlock with curiosity and a twinkle of mirth in his ancient eyes, "who are you?" he added. For once Sherlock was at a loss for words. Without really thinking he answered, "I'm...no one. I just met him."

"Indeed," replied the wizard with a smile of approval, "I should think you two will be good friends by the end of our quest."


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's the latest chapter. Hope you enjoy and do tell me what you think if you want to.**

Sherlock opened his mouth, trying to articulate one of the hundreds of questions running through his head, namely 'I thought he said no?'. But the wizard was quickly walking away at an impressive speed for his likely extremely old age.

Sherlock slumped back into the bench, then remembered the hobbit inside that had looked considerably distressed.

He swiftly got up and strode up the path, stopping to get a quick look at the symbol that was now carved into the door. It wasn't particularly special, an ancient Scandinavian rune. The letter G if Sherlock was correct. How peculiar.

Sherlock rapped his knuckles on the door. "Go away, Gandalf!" came a frustrated shout from inside. As Bilbo continued shouting his voice became clearer as Sherlock guessed he moved towards the door, "I told you, I am not interested in any adve-" he had opened the door to see not a wizard, but a man. He stopped short and blushed, mortified at his manners, or lack thereof.

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, "may I come in? I promise not to propose any adventures," he quipped. Bilbo stuttered, "of-of course. Beg your pardon Mr Holmes I thought it was him again." He stepped aside to allow Sherlock to duck into the room.

Sherlock waited a moment to let Bilbo shut and lock his door before asking, "who was that man? And why is he so keen to get you on an adventure?" Bilbo pursed his lips, "that was Gandalf, he's a wizard. He's convinced that an adventure would be good for me," he said, "can you imagine? Me, on an adventure! Ha! No I shall be staying well put." With that Bilbo collapsed into his armchair, looking relieved.

Sherlock didn't mention the symbol on the door, for fear of further upsetting his friend. The door was recently repainted and Bilbo would not be happy to know it was marked.

"May I?" Sherlock asked, gesturing to the tiny armchair across from Bilbo. Bilbo waved a hand and smiled, "of course."

In the following comfortable silence Sherlock took time to really survey the hobbit. He was just so incredibly like John, from his face, to his voice down to the reluctance to being dragged off on mad quests. He steepled his fingers and rested them against his mouth. From what he could tell of the other hobbit holes he had seen, Bilbo's was considerably bigger. He likely inherited the house from his parents, and judging by the size and craftsmanship it could be assumed that he was from an upstanding family. His clothes were certainly better looked after than those of the few other hobbits he'd seen outside. Given the fact that he had not seen another hobbit in the house Sherlock guessed that he lived alone. He looked around his late thirties (same as John) so his parents died and left him a big house with nobody to share it with. He came to a conclusion.

Bilbo was lonely. He felt isolated as the higher class often do, and he missed the company of others. Sherlock tried to think of a delicate way to tell him that the wizard may have been right after all, and that an adventure would be good for him.

Bilbo noticed Sherlock staring at him, "is something wrong, Mr Holmes?" he asked while frowning with concern. Sherlock snapped his head up, "what? No, nothing's wrong just...thinking," Bilbo's eyebrows raised, "about what, may I ask?" Sherlock took a deep breath, "Jo-Mr Baggins," he corrected himself, "are you quite sure that you would like to stay at home? Because it appears to me that you are in need of companionship. An adventure could offer you that."

Bilbo bristled immediately, "thank you for your input, Mr Holmes," he said coolly, "but I think I'll be fine."

Sherlock nodded but said nothing more. He already had a feeling that he knew how the night was going to end.

Sherlock was afraid that he'd upset Bilbo with his comment, but Bilbo proved to be a creature who forgave and forgot easily.


	4. Chapter 4

**What's this? Another chapter already? Yeah I'll probably never update this fast again but I'm liking this story, it's fun to write. Also I feel like my Sherlock is too polite? Let me know what you guys think. And as always, enjoy.**

They continued chatting about any number of things, and soon the sky was glowing as the sun began to set. Sherlock heard Bilbo's stomach rumble and the hobbit chuckled.

"Oh dear. It appears I've missed dinner. Would you like to stay for supper, Mr Holmes?" Bilbo asked, smiling as he got up from his chair.

Sherlock also rose to his feet, "thank you that sounds wonderful. And please, call me Sherlock," he said, returning the smile.

Bilbo made supper. He was a natural in the kitchen, unlike John, who could just about manage beans on toast. Bilbo was clearly at ease as he effortlessly prepared a quick but elegant meal of fish and boiled vegetables for two.

They had just sat down to eat when the doorbell rang.

Bilbo frowned, "now who could that be at this hour?" he said. Sherlock said nothing but he suspected a certain wizard was waiting on the other side of the door.

Bilbo pushed back his chair and stood, "I'll be back in a moment," he said and he went to leave. "Do you want me to come with you?" Sherlock asked, but Bilbo just waved his hand, "don't worry I'll be fine. Do start eating." And then he was gone.

While Sherlock slowly dug into his supper he listened as much as he could. He didn't mean to be nosy, he was simply curious, not to mention somewhat worried about his new friend.

He could hear a deep rumbling voice, but not the words it uttered. 'Now that doesn't sound like the wizard' Sherlock mused. He could hear Bilbo's alarmed tone as heavy boots stomped across the threshold.

The voices became clearer then suddenly a man who was smaller than Sherlock but much bigger and brawnier than Bilbo strode into the kitchen confidently. He was followed by Bilbo, who was stammering and protesting half heartedly, "now see here! You can't just barge into my home like this! I don't even know who you are!" he said helplessly. He threw a desperate look Sherlock's way as the man - no not a man, something else - sat at the table and began eating Bilbo's supper.

Sherlock frowned, "excuse me. That's not yours," he said. The being looked up, obviously displeased at being interrupted. "What?" he said through a mouthful of fish. His manners were appalling.

Sherlock repeated himself, "that is not yours," he enunciated clearly, "Master Baggins made that meal for himself. Might I add that you have no right to barge into someone's home and take their food."

The being looked mildly surprised but it quickly turned to anger, "and what right do you have, telling me what I can and can'nae do?" Sherlock scowled, his glare becoming even fiercer, "Master Baggins is my friend. He doesn't know you and you have invited yourself into his smial and started eating his food. And you seem completely ignorant of the fact that you are making him uncomfortable and frightened in his own home."

Bilbo shot Sherlock a grateful look. The being across from him looked furious. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something when the doorbell rang again. Bilbo jumped at the chance to leave the kitchen, "I'll get it!" he squeaked.

The being glared sourly at Sherlock. Suddenly Sherlock's curiosity could not take any more.

"Who are you? And...what...are you?" he asked hesitantly, not sure if this would make him angry.

On the contrary, the being snorted, "what's the matter, laddie? Never seen a dwarf before?" he sneered. Sherlock's eyebrows rose, a dwarf? His unconscious mind really was something.

Upon receiving no reply the dwarf continued, "Dwalin at your service. And you are?" He seemed to have already forgotten his anger.

Dwalin took another quick bite of Bilbo's dinner. Sherlock watched in disapproval but said nothing. He could hear Bilbo talking and another strange voice he could only assume was another dwarf.

"Sherlock Holmes at your service Master Dwalin," said Sherlock.

"And will you be joining us on our quest, _Master_ Holmes?" Dwalin asked with a smirk.

Sherlock heard Bilbo making his way back to the kitchen with what he presumed was another dwarf.

"You know, I think I just might."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys here's another chapter of this. I feel like this chapter is kind of filler-y so I tried to keep it short. Also, I don't think I should include every single piece of dialogue (or whatever) from the hobbit movie as I have been doing, or it will probably get boring. Leave a review if you'd like to tell me what you think. And as always I hope you guys enjoy this.**

Bilbo led the other dwarf into the kitchen, worrying his lip and looking between the two of them.

'Poor Bilbo, probably never met a dwarf in his life' Sherlock guessed.

Dwalin let out a shout of excitement and got up to greet the other dwarf, who appeared to be equally as happy.

"Evening brother," the new dwarf said cheerfully. He looked much older than Dwalin, but was smaller and not as brawny.

"By my beard, you're shorter and wider than last we met," Dwalin said with a grin.

The other dwarf arched an eyebrow, "wider, not shorter. But sharp enough for both of us, " he quipped, winking at his brother.

What happened next was so unexpected it made Bilbo jump, and even Sherlock was surprised. For Dwalin seized his brother by the shoulders and swung their head together with a loud crack. They stood there, unfazed and chuckling while Bilbo tried to protest.

"Ah, excuse me...see, I'm not entirely sure...you're in the...right house," he finished weakly. The two dwarves didn't even notice, too busy making their way to his pantry. Bilbo followed them, continuing to babble while the dwarves continued to ignore him in favour of pilfering through his food.

Sherlock remained where he was for a moment, trying to understand the strange greeting he'd just witnessed. Then he simply shrugged, "it's not real after all. There isn't any meaning to it."

He left his dinner on the table and followed after Bilbo, but then he heard the doorbell ring once again. Sherlock saw Bilbo turn away from the dwarves, wringing his hands as if torn between what to do.

"I'll answer that, if it's alright with you that is," Sherlock volunteered, already moving towards the door. Bilbo nodded and shot him a grateful look, "yes, please do," he said, "oh bother, what a terrible host these dwarves are making of me!"

Sherlock chuckled as he neared the door. What an unfailingly polite person, quite the opposite of John at times.

Sherlock answered the door to, sure enough, two more dwarves. Though, they were far younger than Dwalin and his brother.

"Fili!" announced the blond one, "and Kili!" chimed in the second, "at your service!" they finished together.

Sherlock couldn't help but be amused by these two. They struck him as somewhat childish and immature.

"You must be Mister Boggins!" grinned Kili.

"Though, you're quite tall for a hobbit," Fili added with a frown as his eyes took in Sherlock's much taller stature.

Sherlock felt the corners of his lips tug into a smile. He ushered the dwarves inside.

"I'm not Master Baggins. I'm not even a hobbit. I'm a man," he told Kili, who looked rather abashed at his mistake.

The two started removing their weapons and unceremoniously dumping them on Bilbo's floor and furniture. Sherlock frowned but didn't say anything. He could tell that glory box was old and very valuable.

"It's nice, this place. He do it himself?" Kili asked as he wandered into the kitchen, followed by his brother.

Sherlock was left by the front door, wondering if this adventure really was a good idea after all.

Suddenly the doorbell was ringing again and a whole crowd of dwarves had arrived as well as the wizard. Both Sherlock and Bilbo were then subjected to a night of singing, laughter and also of tales of grief and loss. The dwarves were on a quest to take their home back from a dragon. Something Sherlock, who was somewhat missing his own home at this point, almost felt he could empathise with.

Late that night Sherlock lay in one of Bilbo's spare rooms on a tiny bed and he started to wonder if perhaps this wasn't a dream. But his mind was already made up, as was Bilbo's.

They were going on an adventure.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey guys here's chapter six. I had fun writing it and I took the advice of Dracomancer1 on this one. Thanks by the way for giving me some great feedback and tips. Leave a review if you guys want and as always, enjoy.**

For perhaps the thousandth time Sherlock thanked whatever entities existed that the dwarves had a spare horse. He didn't think his pride could take having to ride a pony.

He had a dark brown horse that was surprisingly well behaved. It probably helped that Sherlock was relatively calm around horses. Sherlock still had his shirt, good trousers and shoes and coat on that he'd arrived in. The wizard had sworn they would stop somewhere and get him some suitable attire, but Sherlock didn't trust the gleam of amusement in his eye. The dwarves had just sniggered at him.

At the same time, Sherlock had to carefully control himself so he wouldn't laugh at Bilbo riding his pony. He looked discomfited and mildly disgusted, having obviously never even seen a pony up close. Sherlock found it a hilarious sight, this almost exact replica of his friend on a pony. He was glad he had managed to convince the dwarves to allow him to travel with them. He smiled as his mind flashed back to the previous evening.

* * *

"Who are you?" blurted a small dwarf in a purple sweater (Ori, Sherlock recalled). He was knitting something and it seemed he had been unable to prevent himself from asking, "you're not from around here, are you friends with Master Baggins?"

They were all settled around Bilbo's sitting room, some of the dwarves smoking and others conversing quietly. Bilbo and Gandalf were in another room.

Sherlock pondered the question for a moment, "My name is Sherlock Holmes. I've only known Bilbo since this morning," he told the surprised dwarf, "and no, I'm not from around here. I'm from somewhere far away."

"Then why are you here?" Ori asked, purling a few stitches, "did Mister Gandalf hire you for our quest? Are you a burglar like Master Baggins?"

Sherlock had to smile. Bilbo was the last person one would assume to be a burglar. He was still amused by Bilbo's reaction to the contract and to his title.

"Well, I'm a detective. Though I'm not quite sure how that-"

"You what?" butted in the grey haired dwarf beside Ori (his brother Dori), "what's a detective?"

Sherlock steepled his fingers and thought for a second, "I help solve crimes," he explained, "when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me." He looked pointedly at Dori, "I can deduce almost everything about a person at first glance," he was boasting, he knew. But he couldn't help it.

Dori looked sceptical, "here, no one can do that!" he exclaimed.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "are you sure? I know you and your brothers all share a mother but have different fathers. I know from your clothes and meager possessions that you don't have much money and have always had to work hard to gain what you have. You had to raise your younger brothers from a young age and have tried to be a good influence. It worked for Ori, but Nori turned to theft as a craft. And I know you probably haven't noticed that he pocketed your hair beads earlier," Sherlock rattled off coolly, shooting a look across at said brother across the room, who was obviously avoiding Dori's eye.

"You sneaky bugger! I was looking for those!" Dori leapt out of his chair to scold his brother.

Ori was left to gaze in awe at the detective. Several other dwarves who had overheard were also looking impressed.

"Say, Master Holmes, you said you can deduce _anything_ about a person on sight?" asked Dwalin's brother, Balin. He looked at Sherlock earnestly and Sherlock nodded, "yes. I can," he answered.

Balin started talking quietly with Dwalin and Thorin, who looked decidedly unimpressed. But Sherlock knew he was, even if just a little bit.

He went back to talking with Ori about different knitting patterns when he heard his name.

"Master Holmes," Thorin announced. Sherlock glanced over at him, "yes?" he answered in a bored tone he knew would irritate the king.

Thorin immediately bristled, "upon discussing it with my men, we believe you would be a valuable asset to the Company. That is," he added, "if you are willing to join us."

Honestly, Sherlock was surprised. He had not expected to be offered a chance to join these dwarves on their quest. On one hand it would be an incredible experience. However, he remembered the risks outlined in Bilbo's contract. Laceration? Incineration? Sherlock still hoped that he was dreaming because that didn't sound pleasant.

Sherlock realised he still hadn't answered, and apparently the king took this as a refusal.

"Of course, I'm sure you have a family to return to. You're obviously just visiting here," he said, not betraying even a hint of disappointment. Sherlock had to admire that.

"No, I'll do it," he said loudly and clearly, "I'll join you."

He thought about it for a second longer, then added, "I think I'll need a weapon, though."

* * *

And that's how he ended up on his way to Bree among the company of dwarves with a sword strapped to his side. The dwarves had been appalled to discover he'd never even held such a weapon. Sherlock didn't bother attempting to explain the more advanced weaponry that had been available to him back home.

It was becoming less and less likely that Sherlock was getting out of here anytime soon. His fingers tightened on the reins. He wished he knew how he'd ended up here. Then maybe he could find a way back. He decided he would do everything he could to figure it out. But in the meantime, these dwarves had a mountain to reclaim.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys here's a tiny update for this. I decided to go from John's point of view just this time because honestly I felt bad for leaving him out of the loop and I felt I needed to show consequences of Sherlock's disappearance. Also Mycroft is hard to write? Who knew. So anyway I hope you enjoy as always. And as always, any comments, critique or advice is greatly appreciated.**

"God, where could he be?" said John Watson in despair as he buried his face in his hands, his entire form sagging into the plush office chair he was sat in.

He was currently in the office of Mycroft Holmes, the brother of Sherlock, who had gone missing two days before.

"You seem distressed John, though I cannot imagine why. Anybody who has known my brother for any period of time would know he has a tendency to run off without warning."

Mycroft tried to act calm and collected, but anyone who knew him knew how much he cared for his younger brother. His careless demeanour could fool nobody, least of all John.

"Yes I _know_ that," said John with a hint of irritation, "but I'm sure if he was leaving for longer than a day he'd tell me. I'm his flatmate for God's sake. He hardly does anything without telling me anymore." John ran a careless hand through his hair, mussing it.

Mycroft sighed and slowly rubbed his temples, "what did you hope to gain from coming here, John? I don't know where my brother is. He hasn't shown up on any of my cameras, not that this is the first time he's managed that," he added somewhat bitterly.

John smirked, but it quickly fell and he voiced a sudden thought, "you don't think he's using again?" he asked, his fingers anxiously twisting in the hem of his jumper. The last time Sherlock had used drugs was shortly after he returned after the fall, and it had ended rather badly.

Mycroft's expression grew dark, "if that is so then I will find whoever is dealing to him and take appropriate action, you need not worry." John avoided his eye, "good."

"But honestly, I believe he just wanted space to clear his head. I'm guessing he'll arrive home within the next week. If he doesn't..." Mycroft hesitated, "then you should worry."

John nodded, "fine. I'll give him a week." He got up from the chair and crossed the office to the door. But before he left he looked back at Mycroft, who was eyeing him with the same calculating look as his brother.

"I hope you're right," John said, " because I don't think I could stand losing him again."


	8. Chapter 8

**My apologies for taking so long, I've had so much work to do and so little time to think about this. I'm hoping to post a bit more regularly now. I'm going to be honest, I'm not totally happy with this, but I thought I should sort of try to incorporate Sherlock into the Company more. Let me know what you think if you want to. And as always, enjoy.**

The Company, as good as their word, had indeed stopped at Bree to let Sherlock get some more suitable clothes. Although they weren't happy to find that the only money Sherlock had was just paper with strange portraits on it. After Gandalf reminded them of Sherlock's value to the Company, they begrudgingly handed over a few coins.

And that's how Sherlock found himself in new clothes similar to the Rangers he'd seen around. He'd had to leave his coat behind in favour of a cloak (with many a bitter word about it), as it would protect him more effectively from the weather. After four days Sherlock was still sore about it, much to the chagrin of some of the older dwarves. They simply couldn't understand such attachment to something that wasn't a weapon or anything of value.

Bilbo, the poor creature, was hardly faring any better. Sherlock was once again forcefully reminded of his best friend, when Bilbo looked at him like this whole thing was a mad idea and he just wanted to go home. It was a look Sherlock saw often, he couldn't mistake it for anything else.

"Have you ever left the Shire before now?" Sherlock asked him. He of course knew the answer, but wanted to take the hobbit's mind off his discomfort.

Bilbo shook his head, " _no_ ," he said firmly, "definitely not. And I had never planned to."

A hearty chuckle behind them made Sherlock look back towards the wizard, who looked very amused, "come now Bilbo, whatever happened to that young hobbit who would go in search of elves in the woods?"

Bilbo's face reddened, "don't be foolish Gandalf," he said sharply, "those were just the fantasies of a child."

But Sherlock was hardly paying attention.

 _Elves?_

Honestly, he shouldn't be surprised any more.

"Who are the elves?" Sherlock asked. "Are they like you?" he added, referring to the dwarves. He immediately regretted doing so, as they looked shocked and beyond offended as they muttered angrily to themselves.

"How dare you?!" roared Gloin indignantly, "we are nothing like those treacherous b-"

"Stay yourself, Master Gloin," said Gandalf, barely stifling a chuckle, "Master Holmes is not of this land, and doesn't know of the natures of its people."

The dwarves grumbled a bit more but then seemed to understand that Sherlock had not met an elf and therefore didn't know of the rivalry between the two peoples.

But Sherlock was interested now, "why do you hold such a strong resentment towards them?"

Thorin snorted, "it is a very long and very old tale, Master Holmes," he said dismissively, "you would not understand."

Sherlock was about to protest, but then he remembered he had to remain in Thorin's favour or he would probably be abandoned or killed.

So if it meant he could not slake his curiosity, he was sure he could bear it.


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm very sorry this is so late. My only excuse is I had exams at Christmas and then more exams recently so I haven't had to time to do much other than schoolwork. I'm hoping to upload more often now but with more exams coming up this summer I don't know how often that will be. Anyway, as always I hope you enjoy.**

The Company had set up their camp for the night and were comfortable sitting around the fire. Some dwarves had already turned in for the night while others were sitting comfortably around the fire swapping tales and laughing quietly to themselves. It was a moment of peace that Sherlock greatly appreciated.

He took the small pipe Bilbo had given him out of his pocket and moved to sit beside Gandalf. "Could I have some pipeweed?" Sherlock asked, "I'm afraid I don't have any." The wizard smiled, "of course," he said and offered Sherlock a tiny green bag with 'Old Toby' printed on it.

They sat together in a comfortable silence for several minutes before Gandalf spoke, "if you don't mind me asking, why did you decide to join us on our venture? We are strangers to you. You owe us nothing." He shot Sherlock a look of curiosity.

Sherlock cocked his head thoughtfully for a moment. "You could day the same of Bilbo. He doesn't know these dwarves," he gestured towards the group, "he's under no obligation to help them, and yet he is."

However, he was avoiding the question and they both knew it. Gandalf didn't press him, but Sherlock sighed and continued anyway.

"As I'm sure you've guessed by now I'm not from here. Not from this...land. I don't know how I ended up here or how to get home."

Gandalf's eyebrows knitted together in a frown, "I wasn't aware. I believed you were from a village of Men. But this, what you say, it sounds like a curse. Have you had any ill encounters with a wizard of late?"

Sherlock sighed, "I don't know. Perhaps I have." He didn't say anything for a moment. Then, very quietly, he said, "Bilbo is the first person I met here. And he strongly reminds my of my...good friend. I simply...want to remain with someone who reminds me of home," he finished wistfully.

'How sentimental of you' Mycroft's voice seemed to sneer in his mind. And it was right. Gandalf, understanding his distress, tactfully chose to say nothing else. Sherlock tried to relax, drawing his cloak around him. He missed his coat terribly, especially now that he had accepted that this wasn't a dream and he couldn't get it back.

He wasn't the only one who was distraught, it seemed. Bilbo appeared to have given up on sleep, shooting the large snoring dwarf (Bombur? Yes that was right) a glare as he got up and stretched. Sherlock grinned at the disgruntled look, as he was often on the receiving end of it himself.

Bilbo moved towards his pony to tend to it. He spoke to it softly and offered it an apple. Then suddenly the air was pierced by shrieks and cries from far off. Sherlock didn't react outwardly but Bilbo did, starting and looking around him in alarm.

Sherlock saw one of the younger dwarves, Kili, exchange a smirk with Fili, his brother, before saying something in a low voice to Bilbo. It was too low for Sherlock to hear but he caught a few words such as 'orcs' and 'throat cutters'. It was obviously supposed to frighten Bilbo, and it did. He began panicking and Sherlock scowled. He got up and swiftly moved to Bilbo's side. He was about to speak up and berate the brothers but then somebody beat him to it.

"You think that's funny?" snarled Thorin, "you think a night raid by orcs is a joke?"

Kili avoided his eyes, "we didn't mean anything by it," he said sheepishly.

"No," Thorin said, "you didn't." He began to storm away when he added, "you know _nothing_ of the world."

It seemed a bit harsh to Sherlock. He moved a hand to Bilbo's shoulder and offered him a smile, which he returned.

"Don't mind him laddie," Balin said kindly to Kili, "Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs."

Of course Sherlock had already gleaned that much for himself. Thorin clearly harboured a strong hate for orcs, Sherlock just wasn't sure of what caused it (and if he was honest he wasn't sure of what an orc was either).

Balin elaborated, telling the story of a battle to regain the dwarven kingdom of Moria from the orcs. The dwarves won, but Thorin lost his grandfather to a pale orc by the name of Azog. Thorin was almost killed as well, but he fought back. He wielded an oaken branch as a shield and he cut off the hand of the pale orc, then rallied their forces and won the battle. Sherlock could hear the pride in Balin's voice as he commended Thorin for his bravery.

The story explained much to Sherlock, why Thorin hated orcs, why he seemed so bitter (aside from losing his home). And of course where his title came from. He felt like he understood their leader a little better now.


	10. Chapter 10

**Surprise I'm not dead. My apologies for the long wait, I worked on this for a long while trying to get it right. I hope it was worth it. If you have any comments or advice I'd love to hear it. Enjoy.**

Sherlock, without intending to, became more wary of the two princes after that night. He had developed a protective streak towards Bilbo, wanting him to be as safe as possible. Fili and Kili on the other hand seemed ready at any time to plunge the poor hobbit into danger. Sherlock was proved right the very next evening.

It began, Sherlock was given to understand, with Bilbo bringing the two young dwaves their supper. How it had escalated beyond that, he had no idea. All he knew was no less than ten minutes after Bilbo left Fili came sprinting back to the camp shouting about trolls.

Trolls! Sherlock scarcely had time to wrap his head around the idea before an axe was thrust into his arms by Dwalin. "Come on!" the dwarf snapped, "we can't let the burglar die!" Sherlock grappled with the axe before his mind caught up with his body. He started running after the dwarves, his blood thrumming in his ears. He feared for Bilbo's life, but shoved the fear down. It wouldn't do to be distracted during a fight.

The Company burst into the clearing, yelling and furiously attacking the trolls. Sherlock did his best but even though he was taller than the rest he could only reach the kneecaps of the beasts. They fought hard, but given the trolls' immense size and strength the Company was soon overpowered.

Sherlock, along with Bilbo and about half of the Company, lay on the ground in filthy burlap bags. The rest of them were perhaps in an even worse position. They were tied to a spit over a fire, slowly rotating.

Sherlock tried to stay silent so as not to aggravate their captors, but the dwarves were grumbling and protesting as if their lives weren't in danger. Sherlock had to admire them for it. Even as the flames licked dangerously close to them they continued to hurl insults at the ugly trolls.

This train of thought somehow brought to mind something Mycroft had said once. 'Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity'.

Wrapped up in his thoughts, Sherlock hardly noticed the argument between two of the trolls until he was roughly grabbed and hoisted into the air by his ankles. Sherlock let out a yell of surprise as he hung upside down above the troll's gaping mouth.

"Nice and crunchy," the troll licked his lips and started lowering Sherlock.

Sherlock's mind went blank with panic as he struggled. He was _not_ going to die in a dirty sack, eaten by a troll in this strange land. He couldn't. Not without getting home. Not without seeing John again.

His saving grace came in the form of a stammered "Not that one! He...he's infected!"

Confusion flitted through Sherlock before he was hastily thrown back to the ground. He groaned at the pain but couldn't help but feel relieved as it meant he was alive.

Bilbo insisted that all of the dwarves were infested with parasites. Some began to protest, but with a sharp look from Sherlock and a few kicks from Thorin they quickly changed their tune.

"I've got parasites as big as my arm!" shouted Oin. "Mine are the biggest parasites I've got HUGE parasites!" Kili declared. They began to yell all sorts of diseases they had. Sherlock heard several cries of "we're riddled!"

The trolls looked disgusted, but one seemed suspicious of Bilbo, "here," one said, "this little ferret is taking us for fools." He made a move towards Bilbo, who blurted out "ferret?!" in indignation.

But it didn't matter because a loud shout quietened everyone. Sherlock looked around and saw Gandalf standing tall on a rock. The trolls looked bewildered.

"Who is that?" squawked one.

"No idea," answered another.

"The dawn will take you all!" Gandalf boomed.

Before the trolls knew what was happening Gandalf split the rock in half with his staff and sunlight flooded the camp.

For a moment Sherlock was confused. What was a bit of light going to do? But then, miraculously, the trolls' skin began to harden and crumble, and they screamed as they were slowly turned to stone.

Several minutes later they were all free and the dwarves were mourning the scrapes and scratches suffered by their weapons. Sherlock shook his head at them, he simply couldn't understand their priorities. He noticed that Bilbo looked quite shaken up and walked over to him.

The hobbit's coat was ruined and he looked rather like a startled rabbit. Sherlock sat next to him and put a gentle hand on his arm, "are you alright?" he asked.

Bilbo glanced at Sherlock and hesitated, "I suppose it could be worse," he said evenly.

Sherlock smiled at him, "I believe we have you to thank for that. Well done on out-witting those trolls," he said.

Bilbo's mouth twitched, "it wasn't exactly difficult, Mister Holmes. And that troll was going to eat you." He gave Sherlock an imploring look, "you're my closest friend on this venture. I didn't want to lose you."

Sherlock felt something then. Something between joy and deep, deep longing. He pushed the longing aside and focused on his friend.

"Thank you, Master Baggins. And I've already told you, please call me Sherlock."

"Well then," Bilbo smiled, "I'm afraid I must insist you call me Bilbo."

"Oi!" shouted Bofur, "there's a cave nearby. Come on!"

The Company looted the former hideout. While the dwarves gleefully filled their pockets with gold Gandalf found a small sword for Bilbo and one for Sherlock.

"Elvish blades," he told them, "they will glow blue when orcs or goblins are nearby."

Bilbo examined his with a look of wonder in his face, and even Sherlock couldn't deny he was impressed as he slid the sword into its sheath.

Sherlock felt slightly giddy, he almost laughed out loud. He had just survived a troll attack and now had a sword weighing on his hip. It was surreal.

He felt ready for anything.


End file.
